


The Driver's Seat

by lajulie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: BAMF Leia Organa, Car Chases, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Pre-Relationship, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lajulie/pseuds/lajulie
Summary: Leia's instincts and her speeder driving skills get her and Han out of a tough spot on a mission. Now to find a place to hide out, patch up, share a drink, and avoid any of the awkward moments that seem to follow them more closely than the Imperials these days. Written for HanLeia Challenge for August 2019: Getaway.





	The Driver's Seat

Leia was still a little put out to be stuck back at the speeder. But Han knew this place a lot better than she did, so it was hard to argue with him.

Well—it was easy to argue. Less easy to win. And she could’ve done without him reminding her that her short stature made it a lot easier for her to hide out here.

“Just don’t sit up straight,” he’d joked, cocking his head toward the front seat of the speeder. “Nobody’ll even know you’re there.”

_Great. Now I’m like the kid sister in some bad holofilm._ She’d glared at him.

It must’ve been a good glare, because his look had softened a bit, and that crooked grin had snaked its way back across his face. “And if they do come by, they’ll never know what hit ‘em,” he’d said.

She’d relented, but she hadn’t liked it. And now that had been almost forty standard minutes ago.

They were parked in a back alley just outside what Leia guessed would pass for an entertainment district in this section of town, a row of cantinas and hookah parlors and dancehalls with a steady stream of patrons ambling in and stumbling out. The street wasn’t quiet by any stretch, but the drunken whoops and angry yells of the patrons and the various kinds of music spilling out of the cantinas had blended into a sort of mid-level background noise that made it seem so. The alley was mostly dark, the closest streetlight a block from the speeder.

It was weirdly peaceful, in its own way.

Not that Leia was feeling particularly peaceful at the moment. Crouched down low in the driver’s seat—despite Han’s teasing, she wasn’t quite short enough to get by with just slumping—she lightly drummed the fingers of her left hand along the bottom of the steering column, trying to calm herself. Her right hand stayed near her blaster, just in case. The bad feeling she’d had about this transaction was rapidly getting worse.

_It shouldn’t be taking this long_, she thought again. _Maybe I should go in after him._ Han would be pissed, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d ignored his instructions for his own good.

Just then, the hum of the street noise was broken by a distant crash and the sound of blaster fire. She listened closer. Another blaster fired, and another. Not close, but getting closer.

_Kriff it, here we go._ She started up the speeder and gunned it toward the sound of the blasters. The logical part of her brain was telling her what a terrible idea this was, driving directly into a fight she couldn’t even be sure was hers, but Leia’s instincts sang with the certainty that this was exactly what she needed to do right now.

Then there he was, running, a case in his arms, his stride still quick but awkward and pained, clearly favoring one leg. Still, as Leia swung the speeder around, he had enough strength to slide across the back of the speeder and hoist himself and the case into the seat beside her.

“Punch it! Go, go, go, go!” Han cried, but Leia had already pressed the accelerator to the floor and shifted into a higher gear. They were careening towards the intersection where the alley met one of the main streets, and she could hear the sound of another speeder gaining on them.

Han was clearly injured, but she couldn’t focus on that now; getting away was the prime directive. She spared him a quick glance to make sure he was securely in the speeder before making a sharp right into traffic.

“Hold on!” she yelled, and was glad she had when the back of the speeder swung out as they made their turn. Every speeder model’s handling was a little different, and a high-speed chase was hardly the time to start testing out the feel of a new vehicle—but Leia was good at improvising. She made a quick correction and immediately shifted her focus to weaving in and out of the traffic.

“You all right?” she asked, her eyes not leaving the road. She still had the accelerator nearly at the floor, darting back and forth between the other speeders with a _whoosh_. 

“Be fine.” Han’s voice was a little pained, but still strong. “Gotta get off this road. Too easy to track us on the main drags.”

“Got it.” She spotted a side street ahead; guided by instinct again, she whirled the speeder across four lanes of traffic to take them directly to it, bypassing the turn lane.

Once they were safely across, Leia let up on the accelerator a bit. “We lose ‘em?” she asked.

Han laughed. “Nine hells,” he said. “Yeah, we lost ‘em.”

She slowed down further and turned down an alley, where she finally brought the speeder to a stop. Energy, adrenaline, something was still coursing through her veins, like she could shock something with her touch. It felt—overwhelming.

Han was still laughing, shaking his head. “You ever wanna get out of the freedom fighter business, Sweetheart, you’d make a hell of a getaway driver. Maybe a racer, too.”

That defused the shock or whatever it was, and suddenly Leia was laughing, too, until she took a closer look at Han. “You’re not fine, you’re bleeding.”

There was actually quite a bit of blood on Han at the moment; Leia wasn’t normally squeamish, but she suddenly felt sick.

He waved her away. “’S not as bad as it looks. Mostly stopped now.”

“We need to find a place to hide out and fix you up,” she said. “Do we even know where we are?”

Han looked around for a moment, then seemed to ponder that for a moment. “I might know a place,” he said. “It’s not far. You drive.”

* * *

Fewer than ten blocks away, they hid the speeder behind a dumpster and walked up to a squat dwelling with an old-fashioned combination lock on the door. Han muttered something unintelligible, but the lock came free on the second try.

“Eh, Yolson,” Han said. “Same kriffing combination.”

They made their way in carefully, blasters drawn. A quick check revealed not only that the space was free of traps, but that there was little worth anything in the little shack. There was a workbench with a smattering of old parts, a worn couch that appeared to fold into a bed, a sink, and a small hot plate for heating food. The cupboards were mostly bare, and the medical kit—which Leia was surprised they had at all—had plenty of gauze but no bacta.

Once they’d cleared the space, she’d directed Han to sit down on the couch while she gathered supplies to dress his wounds. He’d put on a brave face in the speeder, but was looking a little paler now that the adrenaline of the chase had worn off.

It hadn’t stopped him from cracking jokes when she’d asked about any likely places for a stash of alcohol in the house, however.

“Need a drink?”

“Yes,” she’d acknowledged wryly, “but I think your blaster burn needs it worse. There’s no bacta.”

“Couple of hiding spots behind the workbench. Try one of those.”

Similar to the smuggling compartments in the _Falcon_, the area behind the workbench had a couple of hidden storage spots under the floorboards. The first one had a few food supplies; the second had five bottles of various kinds of spirits. 

She brought all five bottles back to Han. Still coming down from the chase and a little worried about the extent of his injuries, Leia was feeling a little unsteady. She hadn’t really been kidding when she’d said she needed a drink.

Though the familiar back-and-forth with Han made her feel a bit better, so she went with it. “Buy you a drink, sailor?” she asked, presenting Han with the bottles.

He played along. “Mmm. Not my usual, but how about—that one for first aid—“ he pointed to the Old Rathtar Rum—“and maybe we’ll just see where the night takes us for the rest.” The last part was said with a wiggle of his eyebrows that made Leia chuckle again.

At first they thought she would be able to reach the wound on his hip by rolling down the top of his pants, but it soon became apparent that he’d need to take them off. “Will you still respect me in the morning, Princess?” he joked as she helped him remove them.

“That assumes I respect you in the evening,” she shot back, rolling her eyes, and he laughed.

They were mostly quiet as Leia cleaned and dressed Han’s wounds, pausing only to make the occasional joke when things veered into uncomfortable territory. After a dinner of non-perishables found in the hiding spot, they sat back together on the couch, and Han pointed to the bottles again.

“Still need a drink?”

Leia sighed. “Yeah.”

“May I recommend—the Ylesian Fields Rye?” he asked, holding up the one bottle that was still unopened.

“Sure.”

Han removed the cap and sniffed the contents. “Ah, one of the finest whiskies of, uh—“ he looked at the label again— “Hutt Space. You find cups?”

Leia grabbed it from him. “We don’t need cups,” she said, taking a shot directly from the bottle.

Han just looked at her, his eyes widening a bit.

She did her best to maintain her fearless sabacc face, but—_Ugh, this shit burns. And not in a good way_.

Her face crumbled in disgust, and Han laughed.

“It’s an acquired taste,” he said, and took his own shot. “Like, you acquire it when you’re real desperate. Ugh, that is _bad_.”

“Still better than Janson’s jet juice,” Leia said.

“Nothin’s worse than that,” Han said. “And how would you know? You don’t drink that.”

“I’ve had it,” she maintained. She had, once.

Han’s crooked smile returned. “You have not. You’re fuckin’ with me,” he said.

“I have.” She took another sip from the bottle. The rye wasn’t so bad, when you were prepared for it. “On a dare,” she added.

“The hell dared you to do that?” Han sputtered. “It wasn’t Janson. You’d never do something he asked even if he double-dog-dared you.”

Apparently she’d thrown Han for a bit of a loop with this dare business. _Interesting_. She just smiled, and let him continue.

“Definitely wasn’t the Kid.”

“Of course not. I can drink Luke under the table,” Leia said.

Han laughed and took another drink. “Probably a few ten-year-olds on Corellia can drink him under the table. How he ever got off Tatooine such a lightweight, I’ll never—wait, was it Celchu?”

Leia just gave him a look in response, although inwardly she was laughing at the idea that Tycho would be bold enough to dare a member of the Alderaanian royal family to drink homebrew gin.

Han would’ve gotten there eventually, but—“It was Wedge,” she said quietly, a little smile on her face.

“Antilles. Huh,” was all Han said. _Interesting_.

“Han. Are you _jealous_?” Leia teased.

It was a joke—at least it was meant that way—but the “Ha!” that came out of Han’s mouth in response sounded…not very Han, and not very convincing.

There were so many ways Leia could respond to that, so many ways she could utterly shut him down with her words. Now was the perfect time for payback, for all those times Han had teased her about how crazy _she_ must be about him. But Leia suddenly didn’t particularly want the upper hand in this conversation. Not that way.

She took the bottle from Han again, started to take another drink, and thought better of it. Her eyes still on him, she capped the bottle and put it aside. “I don’t think either of us is that desperate,” she said.

Leia honestly had no idea what she was doing or where this conversation would go next, but she’d done pretty well today, trusting her instincts.

Han was still watching her, waiting for her next move. Leia looked at him, a dare in her eyes.


End file.
